


you took me down to the water (got your mouth all clean)

by rensshi



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Coming of Age, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 08:06:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17679617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rensshi/pseuds/rensshi
Summary: “I don’t do this often,” Wonwoo says. “The last guy who gave me a blowjob moved to fucking France in the middle of the year.”“Well, I’m not going to France,” Junhui says breathlessly and Wonwoo pushes himself up on an elbow to snort at him.Alternatively: Junhui thinking about seasons, quiet afternoons, and Wonwoo Jeon smiling feels like an ocean threatening to overflow inside his chest. He’s afraid of what might happen if the waves tip him over.





	you took me down to the water (got your mouth all clean)

**Author's Note:**

> some warnings include: underage drinking and brief mentions of recreational drug use, but that's it.
> 
> edit: put together a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/rensshi/playlist/3jRHdSYi8nIEBXXScQcEof?si=xMc9O__ESQCFHHbk3LFpbw) for this fic i kept listening for inspiration while writing.

“Speaking of sports,” Vernon says at lunch, after he rips the plastic off the straw on his Capri Sun with his teeth. “Maybe you can write about sports superstitions, since you’re always complaining about having to write about varsity teams,” he tells Wonwoo, like that idea won’t make the student body question what goes on in the locker rooms more than they do with jocks’ personal hygiene.

Wonwoo plops himself down opposite Junhui, with his hot chocolate, steaming at the brim. “Pre-game superstitions? Do you have one?”

“If I don’t step on the block with my left foot before my right, it feels like I’ll swim worse than I trained,” Vernon replies.

Junhui lazily feels for a carrot stick in the sandwich bag in front of Jieqiong. “If I don’t spend exactly ten minutes stretching before a race, I just don’t feel good.”

“And then athletes who eat the same thing for their meals for the next 48 hours pre-game. Or sex, before and after. And getting slapped,” Vernon adds.

Wonwoo’s brows crease together and he lowers his spoon of mashed potatoes from his open mouth. “What the fuck, kid. All at once?” He shakes his head and Vernon shrugs.

“Well I’ll put tabs on this info if ever anyone here goes national after high school. Eunwoo made bets on who from each of the varsity teams are real freaks,” Jieqiong says, and turns off the recording on her phone before she starts packing to leave. Not that what was being documented throughout the duration of lunch will make it on to her YouTube vlogs anyway.

“What the hell—tell me who!” Vernon exclaims, like a meerkat straightening up and leaning over the side of the table to catch Jieqiong’s eye but she’s already blowing a kiss and waving goodbye.

“Whatever helps you chase gold, right?” Wonwoo says beside Junhui on their way out of the cafeteria. Vernon has left humming off to chem practicals. “I still think all of that’s just obsessive habit.”

“Ain’t breaking ‘em anytime soon. Sometimes habits keep you grounded,” Junhui says, sidestepping a running frosh in the hallway.

“Any other lucky charm?”

“The old-fashioned good luck kiss,” Junhui says, with his best shit-eating grin. Wonwoo makes a dismissive noise next to him.

They reach Junhui’s locker and he works the combination. “Keep that.” Wonwoo nods at the cup of hot chocolate, still half-full, and Junhui runs his tongue against the back of his teeth in mild exasperation but takes it anyway. Wonwoo pats his arm hard enough for the drink to slosh around against his lips and asks, “Fourth floor after school later?”

Junhui gulps down the warmth (the drink is too watered down) and wordlessly nods.

The regular Wednesday drags on with Soonyoung frisking Junhui’s backpack for Reese’s cups in last period, and checking progress with a freshman he’s tutoring. After 4PM in the dim copy room on the fourth floor, Wonwoo has his mouth spreading wet fire against Junhui’s neck.

“Do you always get boners when you have writer’s block?”

“Nope. It’s stress, genius. I’m glad you don’t tutor biology.” Wonwoo finally pulls away, wipes the side of his mouth and laughs quietly. “What am I going to do once you’re not there to take care of all my writer’s block boner?”

“We need a shorter name for writer’s block boner.” Junhui toys with Wonwoo’s zipper but doesn’t pull it down. “Told you habits are hard to break. I thought you said wouldn’t miss me too much,” he says, lilting in tone but punched with a lasting ache in his chest.

“I was lying,” Wonwoo says, like it’s a hushed secret. He doubles over when Junhui pokes him hard in the waist.

“Are you coming to Minghao’s thing on Friday?”

“I already promised my parents I’d see my brother’s play,” Wonwoo says, still rubbing his side. But I think I can make it.” He traces the pad of his thumb over Junhui’s wet bottom lip before he dives back in to lick into his mouth.  

 

 

 

Wonwoo shows up to Minghao’s party late, in loafers and a gloomy sweater pulled on to cover a white dress shirt. _Fancy family dinner,_ he explains later to Junhui.

“And, would you look at the time—it’s our cue to leave,” Wonwoo drawls over the muffled rap song blaring through the house and nods at Minghao pulling in Soonyoung over the smoke between their mouths. Junhui had declined the joint, Minghao having forgotten that Junhui needed to stay sober to drive home.

“You just got here,” Junhui says incredulously, but he edges closer to the door of the bedroom when Soonyoung starts making growling noises, clearly too high or horny or both to forget their presence.

But how they get from Wonwoo placing his thin hand on Junhui’s thigh in the car as Junhui drives and snickers about the chicken hand meme, and then to Wonwoo stroking his dick just mere minutes after they get to Wonwoo’s bedroom, is not surprising.

“I think I should let you know, since you’re going to Providence for college,” Wonwoo says quietly, flicking his wrist but not going any faster than what’s wanted.

“Might,” Junhui corrects, eyes squeezing shut. “Might go there.”

“I know,” Wonwoo says, the words rumbling against Junhui’s chest when he speaks into the skin there. “But Soonyoung—he’s set to be at his aunt’s there after graduation.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” is all Junhui manages to say, his breathing getting louder, harsher. He opens his eyes, and Wonwoo’s gaze on him is molten liquid.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer and I can come visit. Or you can come visit me if I actually go to New York,” he says, shuffling away from Junhui’s side to kneel at the side of the bed instead.

“You said you weren’t good at—at keeping in touch with a lot of friends. Were you lying again?” Junhui whimpers, as Wonwoo thumbs the slit on his cock. He blinks up at the old glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling of Wonwoo’s bedroom so he can focus on trying to last. He’s terribly horny and the resolution of lasting at least three minutes dissolves when he makes the mistake of looking down to see Wonwoo wetting his lips in between his legs.

“I really don’t think I’m good at it,” Wonwoo warns. “But you’re my favorite friend,” he smiles. If he’s saying that to make this twice as good, Junhui thinks he’s wrong because it only makes him feel bowled over with heat, and _ten_ times more satisfying when Wonwoo finally takes him into his mouth. He lasts about a minute before Wonwoo makes him come.

 

————

 

Four months ago, the beginnings of it had been like this:

Wonwoo from AP Econ tells Junhui that he has to cover something on the swim team for the varsity sports section in the school paper. Junhui’s first thought is, the coach must be over the moon. After swim practice, Wonwoo asks whether he was one of those babies who learned how to swim before he could walk. Junhui was _not_ one of them because he learned to swim at six years old. He started swimming for competitions in middle school but it was only in freshman year of high school that his streak of medals and certificates had begun.

“So you mostly aspire to be the next Phelps of this school at least? I don’t know any other Olympic swimmer, sorry,” Wonwoo admits.

“That’s a bit of a stretch,” Junhui says stiffly and scratches his neck.

“Really? What else do you do?”

“Is this still for the article?” Junhui’s pretty sure his Q and A segment with the rest of the team didn’t last this long.

“No. I’m genuinely curious about the star swimmer,” Wonwoo says, raising an eyebrow. His eyes dart lower then back up in a once-over so fast that Junhui isn’t sure he catches that. But his neck and ears go hot anyway, like parts of him are being poked at and dissected for Wonwoo to pick apart.

“Do you care about your math grades, Jeon?”

“Not enough but I really should,” Wonwoo answers, taking off his glasses to blow at a speck on the lens, and perches them back on, a picture of delicacy and care compared to what he’s just said about grades.

Junhui needed something good on his college applications so he’s part of the peer tutoring program at school. Teaching Wonwoo Calculus is almost like watching the sloths from Zootopia pick up the pencil, and then the movie plays on fast forward so the sloths move at normal speed when he actually starts writing to solve the problem. They’re studying by the wooden tables near the school field and the soccer team practicing seem to pass the ball at a superhuman speed next to Wonwoo writing. By the third equation in, Wonwoo explains that it just takes him a while to internalize the hell that Junhui is putting him through so he can condition himself to be a better student.

“You’re so dramatic,” Junhui says, not enough bite in his voice. He rolls eraser dust between his fingers and flicks them onto Wonwoo’s crew neck sweater. They stick like dandruff and Wonwoo has to shake them off.

“Unfortunately, you might just have to deal with it because sometimes a person just needs to hit rock bottom with their behavior, to start going up.”

“Your rhetoric for learning is amazing.”

“Thank you. I pride myself on it.” Wonwoo uses the straw to try and crush the ice of his fruit slush, mouth pouting into a pink pucker when he fails. Junhui tries not to stare.

They get fries and ice cream after they leave school, at the drive-thru in Junhui’s car, which Wonwoo had reservations about getting into since he lives in the neighborhood about four blocks away past the intersection near McDonald’s and he could walk home. He gets in anyway, hugging his backpack in one arm and holding out the sundae cone in the other hand.

The following weeks after smoothly shifts into: Junhui tagging along with Wonwoo to get milkshakes at the mall strip, just the one milkshake for Wonwoo, because Junhui avoids “junk” after swim practice and Wonwoo has a sweet tooth so bad that his perfect set of pearly whites should have been destroyed by that. Wonwoo for some reason, still accepting his offers to drive him home even if he looks like he half regrets his decisions when he gets in the car because Junhui’s driving was still slightly jerky then.

And then the first party of the semester that Soonyoung hosts comes round.

Junhui is flushed rosy and warm from cheap beer and strawberry mojitos from Jieqiong, sitting on the kitchen counters with a bowl of Cheerios without milk. He’s by himself, away from Vernon and Minghao narrating each hormonal hook and sinker exchange happening out there in the living room, a flourishing animal kingdom. A thin lanky frame comes into view right in front of him and Junhui realizes those are Wonwoo’s ripped jeans he’s staring down at, the usually pale patches of exposed skin muted and golden in the sleepy mood lighting.

“Cheerios?” He offers the bowl to Wonwoo, who takes one look at it and pushes it back.

“I prefer hot sauce on savory, thanks. Also”— he pauses when Junhui pours the contents of another bag into the bowl—“I’m allergic to nuts,” Wonwoo adds.

“That’s unfortunate,” Junhui says around a mouthful of peanuts and Cheerios covered in tabasco. He lowers down the bowl, the heels of his Nikes kicking against the counter when he swings his legs. “They’re out of hot dogs so Soonyoung let me raid cabinets. And I found the hot sauce,” he sighs happily. Wonwoo’s responding laugh washes over him, like a soft blanket and a trickle of warmth that spreads to his toes.

“Are you that drunk?”

“I’ve been worse. Are you?” Junhui asks, leaning forward to look at him better and Wonwoo visibly swallows.

“I don’t really drink,” Wonwoo says in a tone exactly like he’s been initially put off by the very idea of going to this party in the first place.

“Did you go because of your friends?”

“People from the school paper? You could say that.”

Junhui slips down from the counter and pulls him closer by the shoulder. “So what do you wanna do, Jeon? If you’re here looking for something, maybe I can help you out.” He feels Wonwoo stiffen underneath his arm and he loosens his hold, so Wonwoo can easily shrug him off his shoulders. But he doesn’t do that.

“We can get the popsicles,” Wonwoo suggests. “At least the gummy bear faces make the taste bearable. Can’t believe Mingyu helped make those.”

“Cute,” Junhui says, undeterred by the way Wonwoo glowers at him.

An hour and x number of vodka popsicles later for Wonwoo, he’s sucking at the skin under Junhui’s ear on Soonyoung’s bed. Junhui’s pants are incredibly tight and at this point it’s more arousal than the alcohol that makes his vision swim in and out of focus at the poster on the wall of Jesus on a motorcycle that says ‘Godspeed’. Soonyoung wasn’t kidding when he said his parents were very understanding and loving but very Christian nonetheless. No wonder Minghao was blue-balled for the first three months of their relationship.

“I— Wait,” Junhui says, his hands scrabbling at Wonwoo’s shirt between his shoulder blades.

“What?”

“Do you really wanna do this? Jesus is watching us, like literally.” Junhui gasps when his cock throbs in his pants when Wonwoo’s stomach grazes it.

“Jesus knows that Soonyoung has a massive collection of gay anime porn in a special hard drive somewhere in this room, but does anyone else care?” Wonwoo frowns down at him, lips so impossibly pink and shiny when he pouts.

“You’re crabby when you’re horny.”

“I don’t do this often,” Wonwoo says. “The last guy who gave me a blowjob moved to fucking France in the middle of the year.”

“Well, I’m not going to France,” Junhui says breathlessly and Wonwoo pushes himself up on an elbow to snort at him. “Like I said before, Wonwoo. What do you want to do?”

For all of how Wonwoo had practically pounced on Junhui earlier, after their first tentative kiss had gotten too enthusiastic, (spurred on by something Junhui doesn’t remember word for word, but it kind of started with him asking about the aftertaste of the popsicles when Wonwoo sticks out his cranberry red tongue at him and Wonwoo answering with _wanna find out?_ ) he hesitates now, hands clenching into fists on the checkered bedspread beneath.

“I—” He stops, bites his bottom lip. “Just—just making out. ‘Cause....”

“Jesus?” Junhui grins, lifting himself up to mirror Wonwoo on his side.

“Shut up.” Wonwoo closes his eyes but he smiles.

“It’s okay. We’ll just make out.”  

“You kiss people you tutor math to all the time?”

“Oh no, man—you’d be the first.”

Wonwoo presses his forehead against Junhui’s. Without his glasses, his eyes are sharp. The soft curls of his bangs brush against Junhui’s eyelashes and even with the vodka on his breath, Junhui smells the faint trace of his fabric conditioner and the cologne. “Soonyoung and Minghao keep saying that you’re nice. Too nice. But I don’t really like how they say it,” Wonwoo murmurs.

“Ah, those guys. _You_ tell me I’m too nice.”

“I mean that you’re _good_ , Jun,” Wonwoo says, before he kisses him, too wet and too warm.

The first time they’d done more than make out was in Junhui’s bedroom, three weeks later after Soonyoung’s party in place of studying for math (they don’t feel too guilty; Wonwoo’s scores have improved the last couple quizzes). That day was also when Junhui found out Wonwoo aims to get into Pratt if not Berkeley after graduating, because talking calmed Wonwoo’s nerves:

“Cool. I might go to Providence,” Junhui replies as if they’re having this conversation over overpriced coffee.

Wonwoo’s laugh gets sucked in a sharp inhale when Junhui cranes his neck forward to lick at the head of his cock and Wonwoo’s hips jerk upwards. “That’s like, several hours away from New York by train.”

“I could come visit you. Friends from home are always good company.” It’s a joke, gentle and teasing but there’s something wrong with how it’s said, a strange wrangle in his gut. Which is weird; Junhui loves jokes.

“You’ll be _awesome_ company if you keep doing that—thing you’re doing now, holy shit,” Wonwoo rambles. He blinks furiously, digs his nails into Junhui’s shoulders to egg him on when he pulls off Wonwoo with spit-slicked lips. No one else had been home but Junhui had been glad they’d left _Criminal Minds_ on a volume loud enough to almost mask Wonwoo’s broken moan when he orgasms.

“Just so you know,” Wonwoo says, when his breathing returns to normal. “I’m not very good at keeping in touch with a lot of friends.” There’s a silence that hangs over them for a short moment, punctuated by the dialogue from the series playing. Then Wonwoo, with his head curled in on himself in the single bed, so Junhui can’t see his face, quietly asks: “Do you want to keep being friends and keep doing all this? I’m fine with us now.”

Junhui doesn’t stop to think about what _this_ actually means. So like the dumbass Minghao calls him, he just smiles and says, “Of course.”

 

————

 

They didn’t bring up the future afterwards. Despite it being senior year, despite Junhui visiting the counselor to get advice on his applications, despite how his parents talk about tuition with Wonwoo hanging out in their living room, flipping through the old books upside down at the coffee table.

They didn’t bring it up until months later in the present, talking about Pratt or Berkeley, maybe’s and possibilities. Junhui slept over that night. He didn’t actually sleep too well with his head bouncing off with echoes of being a _favorite friend_. Wonwoo, having slept like a log and completely oblivious, snickered at him the next morning when Junhui put salt instead of sugar for his coffee in the kitchen.

“You’re gone. So _so_ gone,” Minghao tells Junhui over the bowl of salad he’s served him later that day after he leaves Wonwoo’s place. “I’m surprised you haven’t already kissed him in front of _family._ Would he even like that? Wonwoo seems like an iron wall.”

“Is that what Soonyoung says about him?” Junhui rubs at his tired eyes. If he squints long enough at Minghao, the aftereffects of the party last night are still there in his dark circles.

“No. Do you really think I listen to everything Soonyoung tells me?” Junhui just decides to keep his remark on the morosexual tendencies Minghao displays, to himself for the moment. “Wonwoo just seems...impenetrable. In another context, obviously. I still think he’d bottom for you if you asked,” Minghao sniffs, then smirks at the blush spreading up Junhui’s neck to his face.

Impenetrable. Unfazed, reserved upon first impression but opinionated in his writing and just cool that way, everyone supposes. But Junhui learned that Wonwoo is a lot easier to entertain than most people would think. He laughs at most of Junhui’s jokes, sits through k-dramas with his parents so he can expand his Korean vocabulary, and wanders off in IKEA hugging throw pillows and looking at coasters and paper organizers.

“What were you doing in IKEA?” Minghao cranes his neck forward and peers accusingly at Junhui. “Were you window shopping for bed sheets and coffee tables? Picking what island counters to have kitchen sex on in your future picturesque catalog cutout of a home? Wonwoo is gayer than I thought,” Minghao says, more to himself.

He drags out the chair in front of Junhui with a piercing scrape so he can disregard all work duties for at least ten more minutes today, and slap a frustrated hand on the table. The gangly middle schooler paying at the register looks away in alarm when Junhui makes wary eye contact with him as Minghao says, “Did you guys actually go all the way last night?”

“ _He_ needed to buy new furniture, and no. We didn’t. Seriously,” Junhui deadpans, when Minghao starts drumming his fingers against the table.

“You like him more than you should,” Minghao states.

Junhui stays silent, stabbing through lettuce with a meek _crunch_ and stuffing a meat wrap with it. Minghao grimaces at this, but continues with, “Are you ever going to tell him that you wanna hold hands at IKEA?”

“Hey, I’ve tried. I’ve...dropped hints,” Junhui says slowly.

“You run your mouth with compliments whenever Jihoon Lee does something in his realm of nice, and you flirt with me _and_ Soonyoung when you have to third wheel,” says Minghao, matter-of-factly. His face grows stern when he continues with, “Try harder, Jun. It’s your senior year, and I know you. You’re going to get crushed by the inexplicable capacity you have to choke down your feelings until you drown in them.”

“Let’s not do this in front of my salad,” Junhui says over a mouthful of food.

“I _made_ the salad, so damn right I can do this,” Minghao shoots back.

————

 

The short course season for the competition meant Junhui would be in regular training mode again, running in the mornings and actual swimming practice after school. It would be his last swim meet. On the weekends, there was the nearest public pool next to the local sports complex and he still occasionally goes swimming alone to think—or not really think. He wasn’t really thinking when one day Wonwoo asks if he can come along and he says yes.

“Why don’t you swim?” Junhui asks Wonwoo, who still has his hoodie over his trunks.

“It’s January,” Wonwoo says simply but they both know it’s a weak excuse. His cheeks and nose are tinged a soft red from morning allergies and he walks over barefoot to squat down near where Junhui is. The afternoon breeze ruffles his hair. “I almost think you’re crazy for coming here on your weekends.”

“So you’re crazy too for coming with,” Junhui shrugs, tipping his head back against the pool edge and gets blinded by the face full of sunshine.

“Maybe,” Wonwoo murmurs under his breath.

The only other crazy people who are there with them, is a group of siblings in elementary, splashing each other at the shallow end and their mother drinking from a canister on the outdoor seats. The lifeguards don’t count, and they jostle Junhui for pleasant small talk when he comes here sometimes. Really though, not that cold given the afternoon sun.

“I used to work here during the summer as a lifeguard,” Junhui explains, when he catches Wonwoo glancing at one of the younger ones who waves at Junhui from their post.

Wonwoo blinks and gives Junhui a pointed look. “Of course you did, you Good Samaritan, you,” he mutters, shifting his gaze to the water instead.

“Still hate the water?” Junhui asks, poking Wonwoo’s knee. Wonwoo gently swats his wet hand away.

“Not exactly. Wouldn’t say I hate it now.”

“Maybe because you like hanging out with me.”

“Well I don’t hate you.”

Junhui laughs. “I like you too, don’t worry. So why else d’you come here?”

“I was bored,” Wonwoo says, moving forward so his fingers skim the surface. “It’s actually kind of nice here. Makes you think time can stop or something.”

“That reminds me of summer,” Junhui replies, shielding his eyes with his hand from the sun.

“I like the summer,” Wonwoo says softly.

Junhui rests his cheek against his folded arms on the poolside, legs kicking lazily, slowly, underwater. His mind is beginning to cloud over and his eyelids droop. “Me too,” Junhui says, with his eyes closed. “I mean, my birthday is in June if you haven’t guessed yet,” he laughs.

“I remember. Mine’s in July,” Wonwoo tells him. Junhui was invited to his eighteenth birthday last year through Minghao, through Soonyoung. Mutual friends in sickening love were the only things they had in common at the time, besides being born in the summer.

“You should come with me to the beach next time. Vernon, Minghao and the others are always down there on summer vacations,” Junhui says, grinning.

“I’ll think about it,” Wonwoo says, but he’s smiling.

“The water isn’t that cold once you get used to it,” Junhui tries.

Wonwoo narrows his eyes but he pulls off his hoodie and starts walking in the direction of the showers. “Give me some privacy here, why don’t you?” says Wonwoo, like they don’t end up with a hand down the others’ pants every other week. Wonwoo’s shivering slightly when he lowers himself, the white shirt clinging to his thin frame but he splashes Junhui in the face and soon he’s laughing with his nose scrunched, eyes shining.

Thinking about summers and impending seasons, quiet afternoons, and Wonwoo Jeon smiling feels like an ocean threatening to overflow inside Junhui’s chest. He’s afraid of what might happen if the waves tip him over.

 

————

 

To put things into some perspective, Wonwoo Jeon was the kid in fourth grade who told his whole homeroom that the reason why one of the gym teachers left was because she’d fallen in the school’s swimming pool after the girls’ swim team practice was over. A horrific _something_ from the pool drainage had sucked her leg in, so she nearly drowned. He’d instigated mass terror for a short while over the other kids due to his agenda against swimming and the water. Later on, they found out that Miss Huntley had quit because she went backpacking off to Europe to ultimately swim across the English Channel, both legs still attached to her body. That didn’t stop Jieqiong from projecting misplaced blame and hate on Wonwoo up until middle school because the girls’ team had gotten an old hag for a new coach.

Now, Jieqiong obviously doesn’t hate him anymore, and she had long quit the swim team upon pursuing other interests. Thus she could care less about Junhui and Wonwoo’s arrangement. Except when it involves Wonwoo being a justified asshole, per Jieqiong’s words when they find out that he said yes to a junior asking him out to a football game.

“You care,” Jieqiong says firmly, squeezing a stress ball and throwing it to Junhui.

Junhui doesn’t bother catching it, too busy basking in the awfully gratifying knowledge that Wonwoo doesn’t actually enjoy football. The stress ball bounces off his knee. “And?”

“Fine, maybe he isn’t an asshole. Maybe he just doesn’t know you care.”

“He’s not,” Junhui whines on the bed. “I’m just bitter that I do care. A little bit.”

“A little bit.”

Junhui groans, and Jieqiong stops spinning in her chair by the desk to face him. “Tell him the truth, loser.”

“The truth,” Junhui echoes. The more pressing issue is that it probably wouldn’t matter in the end. A passing feeling, ephemeral and fleeting, like another chapter he breezes through because everyone’s set for change.

They both jump when there’s a loud knock against the open door and Jieqiong’s mother is standing there to tell them dinner’s ready. Jieqiong has known Junhui for so long that their families thought they were dating at some point, until Junhui fully realized that he likes boys more than girls, and both their parents finally let Jieqiong have him over up in her room again whenever he visited. Doesn’t stop her mom from having to personally come up to get them for dinner though.

“If I knew I’d even feel this way, I wouldn’t have said yes to being friends with benefits,” Junhui reasons after her mother leaves and Jieqiong’s cat slinks into the room. Jieqiong face softens.

“For someone who’s got some of the best times on the swim team and saves people from failing in math, you’re kind of slow when it comes to other things,”Jieqiong says. Her overweight cat mewls in response, as if in agreement. “Wonwoo isn’t exactly great at this casual friends with benefits thing. I think he cares about you too. A little bit,” she adds, the apples of her cheeks rounded in mirth when she laughs.

 

————

 

“Oh yeah. I’d say Wonwoo is the last person I’d think capable of friends with benefits,” Soonyoung affirms, while Junhui and him sit outside at the fusion snack bar that breathes healthy-means-happy that Minghao works at. “Imagine my shock when I found out about you two.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s not a virgin but he always thought friends with benefits were unappealing because he’s, well, Wonwoo. Bound to one, power to monogamy, vanilla as hell. Actually I wouldn’t know that last one. Care to spill, Junhui?” Soonyoung perks up, two front teeth showing itself in a devious smile.

“I wouldn’t know either,” Junhui grumbles, crossing his ankles underneath the chair.

“Shocker. Anyway, why are you asking about him? You got a problem?” Soonyoung pouts, and Junhui blinks at the sudden questions.

“No reason,” Junhui says easily, a hand under his chin and slumped enough to look like he’s clocking out of this conversation but Soonyoung is oblivious and prattles on.

“Damn. Yeah well, it isn’t a relationship.”

“It isn’t.”

“How do you _really_ use time together to study?”

“Why the hell are you so interested?” Minghao asks, as he sets down two plates of wraps, and Soonyoung whips his head up.

“Because Wonwoo pays attention in math now and he actually laughs at all my jabs for him—”

“I think that’s perfectly normal,” Junhui comments quietly.

“Think you’re hilarious to Wonwoo, huh?” Soonyoung narrows his eyes at him.

“I think _that’s_ hilarious,” Minghao smirks, fondly pinching Soonyoung’s squishy tricep. Junhui makes a face at them both.

“Wonwoo seems like a closet masochist. Is that how you tutor him?” Soonyoung asks while Minghao backs away with “Oh my God, I’m going back to work.”

“Soonyoung, what the fuck? Let’s not get that imaginative,” Junhui begs, tugging at his jacket collar from the heat creeping up his neck and cheeks.

“Aw come on. The guy’s been stuck with me since middle school but he never tells me anything. He went out with a junior, at the game last week, right? She cut the date short because he wouldn’t stop mentioning _you_. So—” Soonyoung slaps down one hand on the table, ignoring the way Junhui coughs violently over his food. “Tell me Junhui, does he call you ‘sir’ in these private tutor sessions?”

“Please stop before I strangle myself.”

“Ooh, kinky.”

 

————

 

Maybe if it wasn’t so easy being with Wonwoo, this wouldn’t feel as complicated.

Looking back on it, Junhui isn’t quite sure how in a span of mere months, they’d gone from being acquaintances throughout eight years of school together in the same year, but never really friends. Even when Minghao and Soonyoung, Wonwoo’s best bud, started dating summer of 2014. The kind where it was only through word of mouth and run-ins at social events like house parties, or on bowling nights out back then, that Junhui knows Wonwoo doesn’t like getting drunk, is into thrillers because Soonyoung complains about his movie night choices, and has dated one girl officially. If Wonwoo didn’t join Soonyoung for lunch, he’d sit with people like Mingyu Kim, who everybody likes, Jihoon Lee, a chill guy who was Junhui’s lab partner for a term, and Jeonghan Yoon, who ran for student president before he graduated.

That was always how it had been—easy when it was distant and with plenty of distractions to buffer the gaps between them.

Now, he has lunch with Junhui almost every Wednesday because it’s right after their economics class. And there are things about Wonwoo that Junhui notices more than ever.

There’s the notepad that Wonwoo likes to carry around with him in his backpack, even if he writes all his articles on his Macbook. There’s the tiny handheld camera he uses for the paper’s pictures, and then the secondhand Instax he takes with him on occasion that Minghao sold to him. Junhui sees him squinting through the lens of the white Instax on the benches while he runs around the track field with his teammates for dry practice, Wonwoo’s hunched posture and the Pepsi color schemed windbreaker unmistakeable and even brighter under the gentle morning sun.

Junhui jogs over to the benches when they’re done with their laps and calls out in place of a greeting, “Are you stalking me, Wonwoo?” 7 AM is the earliest he’s ever seen Wonwoo at school, so he thinks his joke is justified.

“You calling me a creep?” Wonwoo calls back, but he’s grinning behind the camera. “Some stalker. These pictures suck.”

“Are you testing out something?” There’s no particular focus on a subject through the few photos; Junhui and the others running are sun-streaked blurs of movement beside the brilliant green of the field. Junhui has seen Wonwoo’s photos before, and he’s taken much better.

“Something like that,” Wonwoo says distractedly, sniffing and rubbing at his pink nose.   

“I’ll get you hot chocolate later at lunch,” Junhui offers without thinking. Wonwoo looks up like he’s surprised, and nods.

After he changes into a fresh set of clothes, Junhui asks about the words on Wonwoo’s notepad open at the page, a quote from Kant apparently that Wonwoo learned from one of the upperclassmen who graduated last year:

_Rules for happiness: something to do, someone to love, something to hope for._

“Jeonghan thinks his Intro to Philosophy class in uni is mostly bullshit. But his unironic romanticism shows when he texts me stuff like this that he learns,” Wonwoo explains to Junhui as they make their way back to the school building.

Junhui shivers when the breeze hits them and pulls down his sweater sleeves. “Do you agree?”

“I’m not sure I do,” Wonwoo says.

“Something to hope for sounds valid. Not everything has to be complicated.”

Junhui realizes Wonwoo’s stopped walking when he hears no response. He turns to find him hanging back, gripping the straps of his backpack and frowning at a spot beside Junhui. “Is this complicated?” His eyes are dark and undiscerning.

“What is?” Junhui asks, even though the dread pulls at him downwards and his heart clenches.

“This thing,” Wonwoo says, not really explaining at all. “Never mind, forget it,” he finishes quickly and continues walking. Junhui pales behind him, words on the tip of his tongue but too choked up to utter the harder he stares at Wonwoo’s shoulder, the sunlight dusting against the soft crown of his hair.

It’s not complicated until it is.

Later at lunch, Junhui receives a folded note signed by a sophomore girl Junhui only knows by face, not name until a disgruntled Vernon who acted as messenger, pulls up her Facebook profile to show him.

“I already told Jisun you’re more interested in dick, but she’s optimistic,” Vernon grumbles, clearly embarrassed.

The note is written in pink gel pen, a tribute to Valentine's Day just around the corner. It’s the first time in a while he’s gotten asked out like this.

“Congratulations,” Wonwoo says, his tone even in between sips of his hot chocolate. Jieqiong kicks Junhui under the table with her suede boots.

Wonwoo doesn’t finish his hot chocolate and out of habit, he still gives it to Junhui when he leaves the table early. When Junhui downs it, it’s too sweet this time, but the powdered residue clinging to the back of his tongue turns almost bitter as Junhui crushes the cup and chucks it in the bin.

 

————

 

There’s another party, this time at Mingyu Kim’s house. So Wonwoo is _supposed_ to show up. He said he would, a passing remark when Junhui mentioned the party on the floor of his living room as Junhui’s little brother beat his ass at Mario Kart _again._ Junhui tossed the controller at Wonwoo, hitting him square on the crotch by accident when Wonwoo laughed at him.

But it’s nearing eight in the evening and Wonwoo is still nowhere to be found.

Junhui decides against texting Wonwoo himself; instead he decides he would rather grit his teeth and push through the whole damn house, weaving through sweaty drunk people, just to find Mingyu in the kitchen, pouring some mix of flavored liquor in a measuring cup upon someone else’s request.

“Wonwoo?” Mingyu looks up from another bottle he’s grabbed. “He told me he had stuff to deal with. Homework and college admission essays, you know how it goes. Not that you seem to have a problem with that, since you’re here,” he smiles at Junhui, canines shining like fangs.

Junhui texts Wonwoo after chugging down a Budweiser, asking if he can come over because _this party is no fun_ , but not drunk enough to add something greasy like _‘cos you’re not here’_ or anything like that. Instead, he politely asks if Wonwoo would like help.

He ends up on Wonwoo’s porch, shuffling his sneakers against the wood. Wonwoo opens the door, gives him a once-over. “You could have stayed at the party,” he mutters, letting Junhui in. “I breezed through most of my homework, an article about millenials and obsessive comparison disorder, and now I’m wallowing,” Wonwoo says easily as they go upstairs to his bedroom. “My parents are out,” he adds, when Junhui starts looking around at the lack of a CW series sounding off from the living room.

His room looks the same as it had always been, the maroon walls, and TMNT soft blanket he uses as a cushion for his computer chair, the new desk he built after that IKEA trip, a stray t-shirt on the bed and the little fishbowl near the windowsill. His laptop glows with an open half-written document, which Wonwoo shuts close after they enter. He sinks down into the chair, flattening the folded TMNT blanket even more, forlorn and glassy-eyed.

“How long have you been at it?” Junhui asks, his eyes sweeping over the open textbooks, empty mug and a plate with one kimbap roll.

Wonwoo lifts his glasses to rub his eyes. “Before dinner?”

“Do you want a break?”

“I just ate,” he says. “Unless _you_ want food.”

“I meant the pool,” Junhui clarifies, although his eyes linger on the lone kimbap roll on the plate. “Fresh air might help.” Wonwoo pushes the plate towards him.

“It’s _still_ open at what—” Wonwoo looks at his watch—”After eight?”

“ _Yes._ Closing time is at nine. It’s fine, the lifeguards won’t think us weird.”  

No one else is going to come in for an evening dip so close to the pool’s closing time, and the lifeguards on duty practically ignore them. So no one is going to interrupt them talking about who and who got caught in the janitor’s closet this week, any conversations with cranky neighbors their parents smiled through this morning, old middle school teachers, and Skyrim glitches.

“Good luck for the competition this weekend. Are you sad it’s gonna be your last?” Wonwoo asks.

Junhui’s last swim meet. He’s been trying not to think so much of what kind of finality it brings, not until after the competition. No more running around the field in the mornings, no swimming faster and faster until he can’t anymore.

“I’ll be sad. But I think I’ll miss the routine that came with it more. Like what am I going to do after?” Junhui grips the edge of the pool side to peer further down at his feet submerged in blue water, as if he’ll find something there. This is the first time he’s ever voiced out this worry to anyone.

“You’ll always be more than that. You’re what my parents call _capable_ ,” Wonwoo says flatly like there’s a taunt behind the last word, but his mouth is pulled up in a kind smile. “I feel like you’re always going to find something good to do.”

“That’s one of the nicest things you’ve said to me when we’re not giving each other hand jobs.”

“Shut the fuck up, I was being sincere,” Wonwoo declares, and splashes Junhui lightly with water who he slips into the pool to escape.

If Junhui floats on the surface, there’s the crescent moon in view, but hardly any stars. A blinking airplane passes by.

“Some time a while ago, and some time later, there’s going to be people waiting to see each other again at an airport,” Junhui says, pointing up at the plane. “That’s kind of cool, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo’s face is tinted a cold blue from the pool lights and chlorine, and the glimmering surface is reflected in his eyes when he looks down from the sky.

The lifeguards tell them they’re closing in fifteen a moment later and that’s their cue to head out and dry off.

Hope is becoming a touchy thing to talk about. While they’re in the car, Wonwoo fiddling with the aux and scrolling through a playlist, Junhui thinks about Valentine’s Day a week ago, when it’s basically hope pumped into the air like the occasion couldn’t live without it. Junhui felt intimidated, staring at the small pile of chocolates he’d received from underclassmen because he wishes he had that kind of courage to condense all his feelings in a message short and simple enough for a post-it note stuck on a box. And then he felt guilty eating them after he turned down potential V dates as politely as possible in favor of Netflix on the weekend.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” Wonwoo looks back at him once they’re standing on the porch of Wonwoo’s house again because they still have a bit of time to kill before Junhui’s mom will start leaving passive-aggressive texts telling him to go home.

“Nothing,” Junhui says, scratching his neck. “Just stuff.”

“Were you hoping to hook up tonight?” Wonwoo asks casually, jangling his keys in and opening the front door.

“I wasn’t,” Junhui wheezes, and Wonwoo stops grinning when he remembers his parents are actually home this time.

They greet Wonwoo’s dad who passes by holding crochet needles. During the five minutes his dad excitedly rambles on to Junhui about how he’s learning to crochet little fish for a new baby niece, Wonwoo has already re-appeared from the kitchen with leftover kimchi fried rice packed in a container.

“My mom will insist,” Wonwoo says firmly when Junhui opens his mouth. “She loves you for your monstrous appetite.”

Junhui thanks them for the food and waves goodbye to Wonwoo’s dad and his younger brother, Bohyuk, who waves from the living room when he looks up from his Nintendo.

“Thanks for dropping by, Jun,” Wonwoo starts, lingering on the porch when he shuts the front door behind him. “Wait, can I?”— he moves closer, like he’s about to whisper in Junhui’s ear, or hug him with the way his hands are raised. “For good luck on Saturday,” he explains, close enough that Junhui shuts his eyes and lets Wonwoo kiss him, firm and invitingly warm in the cool night air. It lasts too long to be anything like a quick good luck kiss.

“Right, thanks for that,” Junhui says, willing himself not to trip over his own feet or drop the box of food on the way to the car. “You can come watch at the sports complex if you’re free!”

Wonwoo looks just as confused as Junhui feels dazed as he waves goodbye for the last time. He slumps his head against the steering wheel when he finally pulls into his own driveway.

 

————

 

Junhui comes in second place in the men’s 100-meter butterfly and wins the gold for the 100-meter freestyle on Saturday. Not bad at all for the last race, and he’s hit by how fast the whole meet seems to fly by: Vernon bagged two bronzes and a silver, Soonyoung does his whole mascot routine without the costume for them after the awarding. He hadn’t really been expecting it but Wonwoo is there next to Jieqiong and Minghao when they wait for him with his family at the benches after he approaches them with his medals gleaming against his track jacket, and it’s an entirely different thing to have him just be there.

Junhui hugs Wonwoo three seconds too long with too much energy, enough to fluster him that Soonyoung laughs so hard with a choked out _bro, remember your eighteenth birthday gift from me, okay?_

“Fucking Soonyoung,” Wonwoo grumbles the next Monday when he comes over Junhui’s for tutoring.

“Hmm? What he do?” Junhui’s been staring out at the window and listening to the soft patter of rain for the past half hour while Wonwoo does a reviewer. Now he’s almost tuned out of his own tutoring session, lying flat on his stomach on the carpeted floor and squirming because Wonwoo seems to be taking out his annoyance for Soonyoung on Junhui’s back with a kind of weird massage.

“My eighteenth birthday gift from him. The—”

“Condoms and Game Zone coupons?”

“Yeah. He’s always so sure I used the condoms,” Wonwoo says, his hand travelling down Junhui’s waist to knead the flesh around his hip bone.

“So you’re saying that you’d rather waste a good box of condoms from a friend?”

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo replies, his tone childish.

Junhui snorts and rolls over to face him properly when Wonwoo’s hand goes to his ass. Junhui sits up to nose his way up Wonwoo’s neck to his jaw, murmuring, “You’re so weird, Wonwoo.”  

“I don’t put out until the fourth date,” Wonwoo says flatly, letting the textbook—which says Economics instead of Calculus—on his lap slip off.

Junhui pouts. “Tell me if you’ve reached that fourth date with someone,” he says, as Wonwoo lodges a thigh over Junhui’s lap.

“I would, if this person actually realizes I want to take him out. Or he can take me out. Whichever,” Wonwoo mutters. His hands move over the smooth skin of Junhui’s stomach, over his chest where his heart pounds. It’s not Junhui’s business, it probably shouldn’t be, but—

“Do you wanna?” Wonwoo asks, his hand snaking over Junhui’s stomach down to the drawstrings of his athletic sweats, and Junhui squeaks out a _yes._

They move up to the bed and Wonwoo starts jerking him off right there, their foreheads pressed together. It takes a few seconds for Junhui to realize that Wonwoo’s palming himself over his jeans.

“Wait, let me—” Junhui exhales. He unzips and gets his fist around Wonwoo, who lets out a low whine. “You have to be quiet,” Junhui says, as Wonwoo starts thrusting into his fist. He pants against Junhui’s shoulder as he grinds against him, Junhui giving both their dicks enough extra friction with his hand. He focuses on nothing else other than the slick skin on skin, Wonwoo’s bitten back soft noises from his parted lips and how hot this is until Wonwoo utters a choked out _fuck_ against Junhui’s lips and the warmth spurts out.

“Shit,” Wonwoo says hoarsely. “Here—”

“You don’t have to,” Junhui whispers, and gasps when Wonwoo continues where he left off.

“I want to.”

Junhui comes with a shudder in Wonwoo’s hand, moaning into Wonwoo’s neck, his back against the pillows. He blinks through the post-orgasm daze and his brain catches up to where Wonwoo is wiping at them both with tissues.

“Hey, why don’t you ask this guy out?” Junhui says, a different kind of wave crashing within his chest as he blinks through the post-orgasm ones.

Wonwoo continues to wipe them both down with tissues slowly and purposefully, until Junhui reaches out to take the tissues away from his hand. “I thought I’d be more than content with just making out, among other things—” He glances at the tissues— “but uh, joke’s on me,” he says, not laughing. It takes a few moments for Junhui to comprehend the situation, the way Wonwoo can’t really seem to look him in the eye and how Junhui realizes that he has to help close that distance even if he might be wrong.

“Do you want me to ask you out?” Junhui says quietly, touching Wonwoo’s hand lightly when he sees the blush settle in Wonwoo’s cheeks.

“Yes,” Wonwoo says, inhaling deeply. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you before, and a part of me wishes I could have done this the right way and not all backwards. Sorry,” he finishes, shifting closer when Junhui holds his hand.

“We haven’t gotten to what happens on the fourth date. I don’t think this is completely backwards,” Junhui says, a smile pulling at his lips. “It’s okay.”

“So you were waiting too,” Wonwoo says, eyebrows quirked.

“Yeah. I just kept hoping somehow that you might want to be more than this. Even when—when things are going to change,” Junhui says, staring at their hands together on the bed where he’s got his fingers loosely threaded with Wonwoo’s.

Wonwoo’s frown smooths over when he bites his lip in thought. He rolls over on his side so he faces Junhui. “We could wait and see if it’s good change. After the first date,” he says, the soft smile showing.

 

————

 

Long after the fourth date when they’ve stopped keeping count, Wonwoo shows up by the doorman’s post at Junhui’s flat in Providence in October. He holds out a milk tea drink to Junhui that he picked up along the way from the bubble tea shop they tried out the last time Wonwoo visited. “Found taro ice cream in Brooklyn, by the way,” he says, eyes crinkled when he smiles. “Not as rich as the one in California, but it’s still taro.”

“Anything with you will still be just as sweet,” Junhui grins. He barely dodges Wonwoo’s hand when he smacks him hard on the shoulder.

“You know it’s only sweeter to you because of nostalgia, right?” Wonwoo says, peeling off his coat and following Junhui up the stairs.

“Everything becomes nostalgic if you only have good memories. Like hot chocolate whenever I get it.” Junhui unlocks the door to his room. He misses the quaint ice cream shop back home in California, where the flavors are weirder than taro in variety and richer. Generally, things like ice cream and cheap hot chocolate in a styrofoam cup makes him think of Wonwoo and home. But Wonwoo is here now, slipping out of his trainers and padding across the carpet in his Captain America socks with hands peeking under the navy blue sweater that Junhui removes an hour later.

“Two more hours until 6PM. Soonyoung knows you’re here already,” Junhui says, his teeth grazing over the soft skin of Wonwoo’s neck and collarbones.

“Please, don’t make me think when your cock is supposed to be inside me,” Wonwoo breathes, eyelids fluttering.

“How romantic,” Junhui teases, satisfied when the glare disappears the faster he pumps his fingers in and out.

“Wouldn’t you like to know how it feels when you drag it out? I could fuck you next time if you want.”

“Shit,” Junhui groans, the blood rushing in his ears because of how _hard_ he is, with how much he can still want because of Wonwoo when he slides himself in.

Two hours later on their way to meet Soonyoung at the tiny Japanese place on the next street, Junhui buys Wonwoo cheap hot chocolate that he cradles in his hands. The chef gives them complimentary maki after Soonyoung introduces Wonwoo as his best friend and Junhui’s boyfriend to the nice old lady who takes their order. Junhui and Soonyoung end up eating Wonwoo’s share of his ramen and sides that he can’t finish.

At the end of the night, Wonwoo hands Junhui another snapshot—of an aquarium this time that he took in New York, the beautiful orange and yellow fish lit blue—another thing that reminded Wonwoo of Junhui while they were apart for university. It joins the several other photos that Junhui has in a drawer of his dorm room. Pictures of a swimming pool, a beach horizon with Jieqiong, Minghao and Soonyoung's silhouettes in the foreground, and a sunny curb with a flash of Vernon’s skateboard and Wonwoo’s blurred smile in the corner, among others. New things to accompany the old, while things keep going as they should.

 

_Rules for happiness: something to do, someone to love, something to hope for. — Immanuel Kant_

 

**Author's Note:**

> i don't understand how this ended up being almost 9k??? because this story was a side project to churn out in between writers block for my one other ongoing long fic. if i write i guess now i'm gonna have to consciously aim for my one-shots to be shorter depending on my time. 
> 
> feel free to leave comments and feedback! they’re appreciated ❤️
> 
> title taken from Still Clean by Soccer Mommy, upon my beta’s recommendation too; tysm Sarah!!!
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter acc](https://twitter.com/fractalkiss) \+ [cc](https://curiouscat.me/fractalkkiss)


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